


When Sammy Met Cas

by cosmic_medusa



Series: We Three Kings [18]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27910843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmic_medusa/pseuds/cosmic_medusa
Summary: You know the story: the happy couple believe they've found their soulmate. The honeymoon montage ends with the awkward introduction to the step-children. It's all downhill from there.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester
Series: We Three Kings [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1306616
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	When Sammy Met Cas

Cas tied, and then retied, and then gave up and united, his tie. He yanked out another one, fiddled with it, decided he hated patterns, and tossed it aside. Dean appeared in the mirror behind him, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and the necklace he never removed.  
  
“Dude, you didn't get this dressed up for _me_ first time we hung out.”  
  
“I want him to like me,” Cas replied.  
  
"He will."  
  
"I want to look...presentable."  
  
"You're going to look ridiculous."  
  
"I'd rather look ridiculous than... _unfit_."  
  
"You’re not meeting the parents. It's just Sammy."  
  
"Not to be rude, Dean, but I fear meeting your brother far more than I’d fear meeting your father."  
  
"Fair enough." His boyfriend advanced, rested his chin, briefly, on Cas' shoulder. "Just relax. No tie. No jacket. Slacks and a dress shirt with a few buttons undone. You'll look handsome and ready. Sam's a big prep boy anyway, he'll probably be dressed the same."  
  
“And you?”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna put on a decent shirt because there’s a lady involved, but no way am I taking off the jeans. This is low-key, dude.”  
  
Cas knew Dean was being sincere. One of the things he’d admired about Dean right off the bat was his serious, but still light-hearted nature: he knew when to take things seriously and when laughter was the best medicine. Dean had a warmth, a compassion about him that Cas had gravitated toward, and the more time they spent together, the more he felt his own rigid edges softening.  
  
But he’d dreaded meeting Sam. And no amount of Dean’s reassurance was going to ease that dread. Right off the bat, it was clear that Dean’s relationship with his brother was nothing like Cas’s with his: nearly every story had a ‘Sammy said this,’ or ‘Sammy said that,’ or ‘Sam’s gonna freak,’ or ‘remind me to text Sam after this.’  
  
Dean had been open, and honest, about his own lack of higher education, the difficulties with his father, the abuse they’d struggled against, and the criminal activity he’d occasionally dabbled in to the get them through. But when Cas had asked what his brother was up to, Dean had beamed like a proud parent.  
  
“He’s got a full-ride at the best private school in three states,” he’d bragged, “could’ve gone anywhere, but he wanted us to stick together and get our own place. Got a smokin’ hot girlfriend whose way too friggin’ good for him, and on track to another full-ride, to law school.”  
  
And just like that, Cas had felt dread settle in his stomach. He’d hoped Dean was like him: on his own, fleeing a family that had brought nothing but hurt. Realizing there was still a Winchester unit meant the possibility of rejection, and rejection of a brother he spoke of this fondly could very well mean rejection from Dean.  
  
And Cas didn’t want to lose Dean.  
  
He was in love—he was sure of it. All the stupid, clichéd, _‘_ emo’ songs and cards and general, silly thoughts suddenly seemed not-so-silly. He was lighter, brighter, drifting about the ward with beaming grins, hoping someone would say _you look different, Dr. Morgan,_ so he could say _I’m in love! For the first time!_  
  
Michael, Lou, Ralph, Gabe—they’d never been in love. He was sure of that. They didn’t even have steady dates. But Cas did. Cas finally had something no one else in his family had, and he was a mechanic named Dean Winchester, and he was strong and smart and handsome and understood what it felt like to be isolated and lonely and wanting to please an absent father and care for those around you who needed it.  
  
And it seemed his mechanic felt the same for him. He thought Cas was someone special, someone _different_ , without knowing his last name, without knowing about his trust fund, his father’s and brother’s careers. He didn’t gasp in awe, or straighten up, or even _blink_ when Cas explained, just asked why he’d chosen to move so far away from his roots, and for the first time since he’d left home, Cas answered honestly.  
  
“Because I wanted a home, and a family, that didn’t care about my past,” he’d confessed. “Because I wanted to be more than my father’s creation.”  
  
And Dean had smiled.  
  
“Well, guess what, Doc? You’re in good company,” he’d said, with a clearly flirtatious wink. And Cas had fallen into something no amount of money or privilege or casual tossing of a last name could possibly buy.

  
***

  
Sam and Jessica were already seated in a booth. They both got to their feet when Dean and Cas approached: Dean hugged Jessica first, gently and quickly, then gave Sam one of those manly, one-armed hugs that Cas had seen brothers other than his own give. Jessica held out her hand and grinned brightly.  
  
“I’m Jess,” she’d said.  
  
“I’m Cas. It’s very nice to meet you, Jessica,” he’d said, standing straight and shaking her hand firmly. He tried hard to not to stare, but he hadn’t been prepared for just how stunning she was: tall, blonde, with bright eyes and a sweet smile, she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen outside of a catalogue.  
  
“It’s so great to meet you too,” she said warmly. “Sam? This is Cas.”  
  
And this...was Sam. Cas couldn’t believe how tall he was, how... _formidable._ Dean still spoke of his “little” and “kid” brother like he was just that...a little kid. But the man before him was neither a kid _nor_ little. He was very, very tall, and broad shouldered, and not looking at all friendly toward the newcomer.  
  
“Sam Winchester,” he said, holding out his hand without a trace of a smile.  
  
“Cas Morgan,” Cas managed, hoping his voice was steady.  
  
“I thought it was ‘Doctor.’”  
  
“It is...I am. Doctor Morgan. But...please, call me Cas.”  
  
“Cas is your first name?”  
  
“It’s...a shortened version of my first name. What I prefer to be called.”  
  
“So what’s your full first name?”  
  
“Sam,” Jessica chided, “No one ever calls you ‘Samuel,’ and I prefer not to be called ‘Jessica.’”  
  
“I’d just like to know. ‘Cas’ isn’t a typical nickname for a fully grown man.”  
  
“Dude, you want proof he’s a fully grown man?” Dean asked, cocking an eyebrow. Sam blushed.  
  
“I hope you don’t mind,” Jessica rushed in, nudging Sam toward the booth. “We ordered water and an appetizer sampler for the table. Sam here ‘forgot’ to eat lunch. _Again_.”  
  
“I was studying,” Sam mumbled.  
  
“Jess, you said you’d watch him for me!” Dean whined, tugging Cas into the booth beside him and keeping a light hand on his lower back.  
  
“I’m a double-major, Dean. Do you know what _my_ lunch was? A protein bar and a coffee I had while running across campus.”  
  
“Yeah. And _I’m_ unhealthy,” Sam grumbled.  
  
“I’m carrying about a third of your body weight,” Jess teased, smiling warmly when he glanced at her. “If you end up skinnier than me, we’re breaking up.”  
  
“Issues,” Sam grumbled.  
  
“He’s a bitch, Jess. Ignore him,” Dean grinned.  
  
“I always do. How’re you guys? Cas, it’s nice to finally meet you.” She slid an arm around Sam’s waist and rubbed his ribs lightly. Sam looked across at him and relaxed, marginally, taking her free hand in his own.  
  
“You too, Jessica,” Cas automated.  
  
“We’re just fine. I’ve been working my usual, saving beautiful babies from a junkyard: Cas has been saving literal babies from...that didn’t sound so terrible in my head.”  
  
“Dean!” Sam gasped.  
  
“I _just said,_ Sam!”  
  
“You do know he’s not one for tact, right?” Jessica asked, cocking an eyebrow at Cas.  
  
“I’ve learned,” Cas said.  
  
“Alright ladies. Jess, what’re you drinking? I need more than water on a Friday night.”  
  
“I’d love a beer. Or, if Cas likes wine, I’ll have a glass of anything he likes.” She smiled warmly at him. “What’s your preference, Cas?”  
  
“Water, actually,” he said shyly.  
  
“He can’t make it through even half a glass of wine before he’s _out._ And he does that when he’s absolutely sure there’s, like, five people on-call before him.”  
  
“A doctor _shouldn’t_ be drinking,” Sam jabbed.  
  
“Are you on call, Cas?” Jess asked. “I could really go for a glass of something cold and white. We could split a bottle?”  
  
Cas felt a rush of relief. “That would be nice, Jessica. Anything you’d like. I can pay for us all.”  
  
“Dean says you come from a pretty well-off family,” Sam said.  
  
“Yes,” Cas mumbled, as a waiter appeared with their appetizers. Jess ordered a bottle of Pinot Grigio for her and Cas, and Sam and Dean ordered beers.  
  
Cas tried a few sips of the wine...but it did nothing for his nerves. Sam was laser-focused on him as if hoping he could make him explode just by sending hateful glances his way. Jess was warm and friendly... _too_ warm and friendly. She had that overly-desperate _I am SOO OKAY WITH GAY_ vibe that he hated far more than those who’d look straight at him and tell him he was going to hell. At least they weren’t fake.  
  
Cas picked at his appetizer and, after Sam made yet another dig, this one involving his three sips of wine on an empty stomach, gave up and excused himself to the restroom. Inside he loosened his tie, splashed water on his face, and leaned against the wall, staring at his face in the mirror. He had a super small chin. His cheeks were too round—Gabe always said he had a “moon” face. He looked tired, and sad. He didn’t have any of Dean’s ruggedness, his laugh lines, the warm crinkles in the corner of his eyes. He didn’t have the steel of either of the Winchesters, their height, their muscles. He hadn’t belonged back home and he’d been delusional to think he’d belong here.  
  
He sighed, washed his hands for no reason, and braced himself for the rest of the evening. Stepped out of the restroom and came face to face with Jessica.  
  
“Oh...sorry,” he said quickly. “Did I keep you waiting?”  
  
“No. I wanted to talk to you.” Cas’s shoulders slumped. "Look...I'm so sorry if things have seemed weird. Please don't take it personally. The first date we had, I thought Sam'd crucify me for ordering a beer."  
  
"I'm used to it," Cas sighed. Jess grabbed his arm.  
  
"It's not that you're a guy," she said firmly. "It's that the last guy Dean dated left him with a black eye and a few cracked ribs."  
  
Cas started. "What?"  
  
“Yeah. I mean...he looked way worse when Dean was done with him, but Sam hasn't bounced back." She lowered her voice further. "He was always patching Dean up after their Dad beat him, and lots of times he beat him because Dean mouthed off to distract him from Sam. I don't think it had ever occurred to him that dating men meant Dean might fall in with someone who could hurt him again physically. I _know_ that's not you, but Sam just needs a little time.”  
  
“Dean never told me that.”  
  
Jess sighed. “Gordon, was...let’s just say Sam and I knew he was trouble from the start. But Dean’s stubborn. Sam is too, even though he doesn’t think he’s as bad. I don’t know everything that happened, but Sam hasn’t been nearly as nice to anyone Dean brings around ever since.”  
  
“I care for Dean. Very much. I’d never hurt him.”  
  
“I know.” She touched his arm once more. “I can tell. Sam will too. I’ll work on him. Please give him a chance. I promise, once he knows you, he’ll be one of the greatest friends you’ll ever have.”  
  
“Sure,” Cas said dully.  
  
“Hey,” Jess snapped—as much as she could _snap_. There was a gentle, sweet nature even to her scolding. “When I first met Dean, do you think he thought I was a good match for Sam?”  
  
“He says you’re too good for Sam.”  
  
“ _Now_ he does,” she chuckled. “But when I first came around, he thought I was a blonde bimbo who’d latched on to his genius baby brother in the hopes of never working. It was hard and it hurt, but after he saw me standing by Sam and doing well in my own right, he opened up and treated me like family, and he has ever since.” She dropped her voice once more. “They grew up in this horrible bubble where no one understood what their lives were like but one another. And it’s very hard for them to trust people outside it. But once you’re in, you won’t find two better people in the world. I promise, Cas. You’ll get there, and I’ll help you.”  
  
For the first time that night, Cas felt himself relax. “Thank you, Jessica,” he said.  
  
“Jess,” she smiled. “Only my Mom calls me Jessica.”  
  
“Thank you, Jess.”  
  
“Don’t worry. Now go back to the table. And Cas? This conversation never happened,” she said with a wink.  
  
Cas joined the Winchester brothers feeling lighter than before. Sam was scratching absently at the tablecloth, head down, while Dean said something in a low, serious voice—something he cut off with a smile as Cas approached.  
  
“Thought you fell in,” he kidded.  
  
“Sorry—I had a message from the hospital,” Cas lied, hoping it was convincing. “I needed to call back.”  
  
“Everything okay?”  
  
“It will be,” Cas smiled. Dean grinned warmly back, casting a meaningful glance at Sam, who was still absorbed in the table-cloth.  
  
“The downside of being a woman waiting for the bathroom is other women waiting the bathroom,” Jess sighed, sinking down in her seat.  
  
“C’mon. We know that’s when you lot plan your evil against us,” Dean said.  
  
“You wish you were that important, Dean.”  
  
“So, enlighten us. You can be our double agent. What _is_ it that women do in there that takes so long?”  
  
“We wash our _hands_. Which all decent members of society should. Also, we believe it’s barbaric to pee in front of someone standing a few inches away without a divider.”  
  
“We pee, we wash, we go.”  
  
“I have a brother, Dean. There’s a reason I keep Purell in my purse.”  
  
Cas smiled at the easy banter between the two of them. Instantly, he felt Sam’s gaze shift from the table to his face. He turned and felt his smile waver, than forced it back upright.  
  
“Sam? Your girlfriend is attacking our sex. Any thoughts?”  
  
Sam locked in on him, his face calm and serious. “She’s holding her own just fine. I only step in to defend whoever needs it. _Whenever_ , they need it,” he said curtly. Cas felt Jess and Dean’s eyes meet, but he kept his own, locked hard on the younger Winchester’s, smile in place, no matter how hard it fought to shrink.  
  


***

  
Jess slammed her door and nearly stabbed her seatbelt into the lock. Sam wasn’t out of the parking lot before she said “you were really rude tonight, Sam.”  
  
“I didn’t ask any question that wasn’t legitimate.”  
  
“He’s not a witness in mock-court. He was a perfectly nice man who you badgered and humiliated, and you embarrassed Dean _and_ me.”  
  
“I’m just trying to look out for my brother.”  
  
“That’s not looking out for Dean. If Cas was a big a jerk as Gordon, you just drove him all the faster into his arms.”  
  
“You met him for a few minutes, and all of a sudden you’re on his side? And not mine?”  
  
“Sam, I don’t think there needs to _be_ a side. Of all the people I’ve met that Dean’s dated, he’s the nicest, most polite, and clearly not aggressive. And don’t you think _Dean_ seems happy?”  
  
“He was ‘happy’ with Gordon.”  
  
“No, he _wasn’t_. He was on edge. He drank a lot more. And he kept trying to make sure we agreed with everything out of Gordon’s mouth. Like, if we didn’t, he’d get in trouble for it later.”  
  
“Which proves Dean doesn’t have his own best interests at heart. So we have to have them for him.”  
“Or? We have to trust that he learned from his mistakes and moved on. He’s not stupid, Sam.”  
  
“I didn’t say he was.”  
  
“You don’t have to say anything,” she huffed, crossing her arms and setting her jaw.  
  
“Look...can we just...not fight about this?”  
  
“I’m not fighting.”  
  
“Cas will be gone before you know it. You’ll see.”  
  
“You’ll drive him out the door, huh?”  
  
“It takes someone really special to stay with me and Dean, Jess.”  
  
“Don’t flatter me, Sam. You act like you and Dean are something ‘special’, but you’re not. Everyone’s been hurt. Everyone wants to feel they’re part of a family that loves them. You and Dean had more violence than most, but you know what? I know a lot of girls who have grown up with sexual abuse. And we both know I’m one of them. And somehow, they manage to find decent partners, and lead good lives, and move forward. I don’t know why men think being hit is any worse.”  
  
Sam’s stomach dropped. “Jess, I never meant—”  
  
“I kind of don’t want to talk to you right now,” Jess muttered, staring out the window. “I love you, Sam, I do. And I know you’re trying to do what’s best. But you didn’t just hurt Cas tonight.”  
  
“Jess—”  
  
“Just...I need a little time, Sam.”  
  
“I love you.”  
  
“And what’s that song say? Love is a loaded gun?”  
  
“Jess, I just—”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“Dean—”  
  
“Raised you, took care of you, been your best friend forever. I know, Sam. We’ll talk tomorrow, alright? I love you, I do. But I can’t look at you right now.”  
  
Sam felt a muscle in his jaw jump. He was quiet the rest of the drive back to their on-campus apartment. Once home, Jess ordered him to unzip the back of her dress, then quickly pulled away when he tried to kiss the back of her neck. Twenty minutes later Rebecca arrived, gave him a killer glare, and vanished into the bedroom. Sam slumped on the sofa with a beer and watched infomercials on low while the girls’ voices drifted out from under the door.  
  
His big brother, at least, didn’t have to put up women. Meaning he had a fifty-fifty shot at winning any argument. That was one less thing Sam had to worry about.  
  


***

  
That night, lying in bed next to Dean, Cas had fill him in on his conversation with Jess. Dean just sighed and tossed an arm over his eyes.

  
"Yeah," he muttered, "all my life I figured I was doing good letting the old man have a fifth and pound on me. When he'd get through to Sammy--" his voice died. "Anyway, I never minded. Even when it was hospital-serious. At least then we had a good week of peace. And when I started working and hustling pool we could always bunk up at a motel." He sighed. "Then that night Sam got his scholarship, he lied and said he'd be out. So I went out too. He knew Dad would freak and wanted me out of the line of fire. I came home and they were both beaten to hell, but Dad had gotten Sam over the head with a bottle of Jack. The docs were talking comas and brain damage. Hell of a way to realize what it felt like on the other side of things."

"She said your last boyfriend hit you."

"Yeah--and I knocked some of his teeth loose."

"I would never hit you."

"You could never _take_ me," he teased, pulling his arm away to smile.

  
"I'd never try to control you. Or manipulate you. Or pull you away from Sam."

Dean's face softened. "I know that. Sam will too." Cas nodded. "Hey--don't take it personally. Please? I'm the one that screwed up. I didn't care enough about myself. Thought it was selfless but I ended up just hurting me and Sam all the worse. I swore I'd try harder."

“Dean...you have to realize that your father hurting you...that wasn’t your doing.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“No good was coming of him hurting you. Even if was to protect Sam—you were still being harmed.”

“Yeah, Cas. I just said. I get it.”

“I don’t think you do. My family...isn’t a model of stability, as you know, but growing up, I was always told never to let anyone lay a hand on me, and if they did, to report it. I admire your sacrifice and devotion to Sam, but no one had a right to hurt you. You were a child, and I know you’d never hurt a child.”

“My Dad had...too much on him. He had to unload it somehow,” Dean grumbled.

“Not on _you_. _Never_ on _you_. My Father...I can’t claim he’s good. He’s absent far too often. But he’s never raised his hand toward any of us.”

“So what, you’re from Stepford now? Dude, all you’ve said is how much they’ve fought, and how much it sucked, and now you want to show them as an example?”

  
“I can’t imagine any of my brothers, even the one I’m closest to, throwing themselves between me and an angry man’s fists. Certainly none of them have shown the incredibly protective nature you and Sam have toward one another.” He locked his eyes on firmly on Dean’s. “But all of them told me never to let someone lay a hand on me. Or allow someone in authority to bully me. Yes, it may have been because they trained me in business interests, but it’s true for all children. I understand you did all you could with what you had, and you did an amazing job—Sam is smart, healthy, and strong thanks to you. I just...I want you to know that, with me...you don’t have to carry it all alone anymore. I’ll help you, Dean.”

Dean grinned and reached up to cup Cas’ cheek. "You _are_.”

“And you’ve helped me,” Cas leaned forward, mimicking Dean’s touch on his own cheek. “I want to know a bond half as strong as you and Sam have. It’s remarkable.”

His mechanic got that sly look in his face that always brought butterflies to Cas’ stomach. “Think we’ve talked enough about Sam tonight, huh?” he murmured, hand sliding down Cas’ chest and ribs.

“Dinner was difficult. I’m rather tense,” Cas said, smiling.

“Well, as luck would have it, I’m damn fine at giving tune-ups.”

***

1 NEW TEXT  
From: Jess  
Sorry Sam was a jerk. Cas is nice. I’m working on it.

1 NEW TEXT  
From: Dean  
No wuorrizes. He’s bbb45uying n4us

1 NEW TEXT

From: Jess  
Dean, please let me turn on the auto fill on your phone.

1 NEW TEXT  
From: Dean  
No4vre

1 NEW TEXT  
From: Jess  
Fine.

1 NEW TEXT  
From: Dean  
Doe8nt be 2t2to haahred on Sham.

1 NEW TEXT  
From: Jess  
Let’s just say, no happy endings until he’s sorry.

1 NEW TEXT  
From: Dean  
Thas my giourl.

***

  
In the first few months Cas knew Sam and Dean, the younger Winchester questioned everywhere they went, every time Dean asserted he was spending an evening alone, every one of Cas' on-call shifts. It took that time for Cas to adjust to a brother who truly didn't care if Dean fell for a woman, a man, a transvestite or transsexual, but only cared if he fell for an addict, drug or alcohol, or a controlling, abusive jerk.  
  
"Trust me," Dean murmured at times when Cas despaired, "Sammy'll learn to love you. He's just over-protective. Sorry to say I'm the same."  
  
"For God's sake," Jess had whispered, one of the rare times they'd been alone, "I'd rather take the SAT's, PSAT's, LSAT's and God knows what else, back to back, than face an angry Dean. Their Dad sucked and we've got to pay a toll to get through. Just smile and it will be okay," she'd beamed at him. "Trust me...I'm putting in a good word."  
  
And it seemed to work. Each time he saw Sam, the younger Winchester warmed to him a bit. He even threw in the occasional “have fun” when Dean told him where he going.  
  
Truth be told, despite the occasional run-in and jabs the younger Winchester threw his way, Cas was too enthralled with his brand-new discovery to pay it much heed. Sure, he’d heard the rumors, seen the magazines, accidently walked in on a few of Gabriel’s choice pay-per-view moments, but up until Dean, it all had been a rumor, or something mythical, like Santa Claus and his reindeer or the Tooth Fairy and her bag of dimes.  
  
But it was real. And Cas had found it. And the truth was this: sex was fun.  
  
Sex was, to use a “Deanism”— _awesome_.  
  
And more than that: according to Dean, Cas may actually be _good_ at it.  
  
He’d had it before, of course. His college girlfriend was Rachel: a blonde, tall, mature woman who he thought had always born a slight resemblance to Barbara Eden, a crush from his youth. She was kind, calm, and brilliant. She was a pre-law student determined to make it as a New York City District Attorney before she was thirty-five, and last he’d checked, her career was on track. She’d weathered all his awkward advances with warm smiles and gently coached him through his first, second, third, and following love making sessions until he could deliver what she wanted.  
  
She’d been, without question, the best friend he’d ever had, and, despite his mother’s constant huffing that her family was “new capitalist,” had been as warmly received as any non-Morgan could ever be.  
  
He knew he’d loved her—he loved her still. And given what he’d seen of the marriages around him, he’d assumed that a polite, presentable, friendly match was what was expected. Neither of them were particularly sentimental, or overtly romantic, and they were both in demanding career tracks that would leave them tired and needing a friendly, non-judgmental, companion.  
  
It wasn’t until he asked her ring size that he believed anything was wrong.  
  
Rachel had come to his house with wine and take-out. She’d taken his hand and told him she loved him, very much, but couldn’t marry him. And then, without a hint of judgment or bitterness, she’d met his eyes and said “I thought I was the problem for a long time. I thought I wasn’t exciting enough for you. But I’m not the problem, Cas. The only problem is that you’re not willing to accept what will really make you happy.”  
  
“ _You_ make me happy,” he’d said, desperate. She’d shaken her head.  
  
“You think I do, because you don’t know what it _really_ feels like to be _in_ love. I know the difference Cas. I thought we’d get there. But I’m not what you want.” She’d brushed his cheek. “I want to see you go after what you want. Not what anyone else wants for you. What _you_ want.”  
  
“That’s what you’re going to do, isn’t it?” Cas said, feeling his throat ache.  
  
“It’s what we’re _both_ going to do,” she’d said.  
  
They’d both held each other for a long, long time afterward. She’d kissed his cheek when he graduated medical school. He’d brought her champagne when she passed the bar exam. And, when she’d arrived at his house with a ring on her finger, he’d told her he’d be deeply honored to be her best man.  
  
What he felt for Rachel was _not_ what he felt for Dean, no matter how much it pained him to admit. He might start out with his usual hesitations, shy and awkward advances, but once Dean had his shirt off, and had half-lifted Cas off the floor with what seemed to be his mouth alone, he forgot how to be shy and turned into some embarrassing, undignified, excited groper, hands everywhere, wanting more and more and _more_ of Dean, of his tongue tasting of whiskey and smoke, the cords of muscle in his back and arms and stomach and chest and legs. Sometimes it felt like they were pushing one another, wrestling for dominance, too accustomed to women to yield their practiced roles. Other times, Dean would touch his cheek or temple with a soothing reverence, smile at him sweetly, and let Cas explore at his leisure.  
  
Cas was in love. Cas had achieved what Rachel had wished for him. Cas slept better than he had in years. And no one, not even Sam Winchester, could take it away.

***

  
Dean glanced at the caller ID when his phone buzzed and smiled. So what if it was girly that he grinned every time ‘Sam’ showed up: It wasn’t _too_ long ago that he’d been told _if_ his little brother lived, he might turn out to be little more than a carrot with a digestive system. So Dean was gonna bask, damnit.  
  
“Hey,” he said warmly.  
  
“Hey, Dean!” Sam called, the sound of keys being hit. Dean could see his brother perfectly: phone pressed between his shoulder and chin, banging away on some paper or internet search. “Quick question—what happens when scientists, at the bottom of the Earth, in a place where there’s _nothing_ , find _something_?”  
  
Dean grinned. “Do you mean...what happens when they find... _The Thing?_ ”  
  
“Tonight? At 5:30?”  
  
Dean laughed. “Jess kicking you out, huh?”  
  
“Can’t I just want time with my big brother?”  
  
“To watch a bad prequel? No. Your girlfriend's kicking you out.”  
  
Sam sighed. “Her friend Jen is going through a breakup so Jess wants to have a girl’s night.”  
  
“I thought she didn’t like Jen.”  
  
“ _No one_ likes Jen. But now Jess feels _bad_ that no one likes Jen. She can’t say no to anyone but me.”  
  
Dean chuckled. It was true—Jess’ biggest problem was her chronic inability to say ‘no.’ As Dean had gotten to know her, he was more and more grateful that she’d met Sam, who couldn’t take advantage of a guppy. He’d automatically assumed that someone so beautiful was supremely confident, but Jess would do just about anything to get people to like her, and carried a constant guilt and worry over things that happened to others that she couldn’t possibly control. Dean liked to think he’d bonded with her over that.  
  
“I’m up for it,” Dean said. “I’ll give Cas a call, see what he’s doing, okay?”  
  
“Why?” Sam snapped, and Dean tensed.  
  
“Because that’s what couples do, Sammy.”  
  
“You and I haven’t hung out on our own since you’ve started seeing him.”  
  
And okay—that was true. For all his girly tendencies, Sam was surprisingly free of jealousy, and had been since he was young: it was Dean who tended to sulk when Sammy found buddies outside of his brother. But Dean had learned from experience that the only time Sam’s jealous streak _did_ surface, was when he was anxious, or depressed, or something was bothering him he couldn’t share with anyone but his brother.  
  
“How about, you and I hook up to see the movie, grab a beer after, and then see if Cas is free for dinner?” Sam’s hesitation resounded in his silence. “ _Sammy_.”  
  
“ _Fine._ I’ll swing by yours?”  
  
“Sure. Let yourself in if I’m not there. You know the drill.”  
  
“Okay.” Sam was clearly lingering. Dean realized the sound of typing had stopped and glanced around to make sure no one was listening.  
  
“Out with it.”  
  
“Out with what?”  
  
“Whatever it is you’re trying not say.”  
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“Sam, can’t we skip the part where you give really lame excuses?”  
  
“It’s just—I don’t _know_ Cas like you know Jess.”  
  
“I didn’t _know_ Jess when I first met her. It took awhile.”  
  
“I thought I knew Gordon.”  
  
Dean’s heart sank. He did _not_ want to talk about Gordon. “Gordon’s gone.”  
  
“ _Is_ he?”  
  
“Sam, I haven’t spoken to him in months. Cas is a whole different _species_.”  
  
“I thought you were going to be single for awhile.”  
  
“I didn’t plan on meeting him. It just happened.” He glanced at the clock. “Look, I got a Mazda here that hasn’t had its brake lines adjusted since Regan was on the throne. Can we hash this out tonight?” Sam let out a bitchy huff. “I hear you, man, I do. We’ll talk, alright? We can skip the movie even, just grab a few beers.”  
  
“No, we should see the movie. I know you’ve wanted to.” Dean knew his brother’s truce flags when he waved them.  
  
“Awesome. You buy the popcorn.”  
  
“No super sized this round, okay?”  
  
“Don’t inhibit me.”  
  
“When you’re old and fat and have a stroke? I’m putting you in a home.”  
  
“I changed _your_ diapers, baby boy. Still waiting for the return of that favor.”  
  
“God I _hate_ you. See you tonight.”  
  
“Later gator.”  
  
“Friggin’ jerk,” he heard him mumble, but Dean could hear his smile. He sighed as he closed his phone. It made no sense to him why _he_ could get over his ex faster than his brother could. Sam had made no secret, from the get-go, that he’d thought Gordon was bad news. _Fine_. He was right. But Sam’s motto in life had been “let me make my own mistakes.” No matter how loud Dean had warned his little brother—“no, Sammy, that’s hot;” “Sammy, that’s sharp;” “Sammy, that’ll sting;” “Sammy, that’ll bite;” “Sammy, smoking will make you sick;” “Sammy, yelling will make him drink;”—Sam did it all and then some, loping back to his big brother full of tears and shame.  
  
Sam hadn’t had that practice. Dean had learned to restrain himself, not to shout “I told you so!” long ago. It was agonizing, sometimes, knowing his brother would land on his face, but he’d learned the lesson all parents had to: knowledge and wisdom could only come from experience.  
  
Sam hadn’t had those lessons. And he was trying his best to do what he’d believed Dean had always done. And Dean loved him for it, the same way he always ended up loving everything that stupid, overgrown kid was, mistakes and all.  
  
But that didn’t mean, on occasion, he wished he could be different. Wished he could do what he saw other brothers do: turn their backs and let their parents deal. Or let them find their own way. He had a new man, a _doctor_ , who was good and kind and didn’t flinch or frown or withdraw when he said he’d broken into shops and homes or hustled pool in an effort to support them. Who didn’t think he was a co-dependent freak for wanting to make sure all was well with his brother, at all times. Who didn’t view him as damaged or broken for having grown up under the fists of a drunk. Who should have been the focus of his life at the moment.  
  
Gordon had been. Gordon had been, because, every moment he wasn’t, meant that there would be some retribution: withholding of sex, of phone calls, of visits. Long diatribes about how screwed he was, how messed up, how only Gordon understood and how he could help get him where he needed to be if only Dean could stop fucking everything up.  
  
It was humiliating that it took Gordon’s fist for him to see it all for what it was. What Sam and Jess had known and desperately tried to get him to see.  
  
There were a few things Dean Winchester _did_ know:  
  
His kid brother was good, through and through.  
  
More often than not, the problems arising in cars came from their owners’ neglect, not a malfunction of their machinery.  
  
Pie made life bearable when pain was threatening to overwhelm.  
  
Alcohol did the same.  
  
Finally? Hitting someone you love, out of what you claim is for the best, if never, ever, _ever_ for the best.  
  
Dean had burned that into his brother’s brain, and he’d die with it seared into his own.  
  
As long as he was alive, no one would lay another hand on the brothers Winchester. And if they did, he’d be sure they met whatever feeble justice he could dispense. Consequences be damned.  
  
Between Sam and Dean? Nothing, and no one, on this Earth, stood a chance.

***

  
Cas had come by in the morning to find Dean had made breakfast—omelets, toast, juice, bacon and fruit.  
  
“Set the alarm a whole hour early,” he grinned.  
  
No one aside from his parent’s chef had ever personally made him a meal before. Cas had felt a whole wealth of warmth and feeling as he stared at the table, until Dean nudged him not-so-gently into his seat and plopped an omelet on his plate. Cas had done the dishes while Dean showered, and then they’d both raced the clock to get one another off before Dean went to work.  
  
Cas had fallen asleep in Dean’s bed and slept better than he’d ever slept in his own. He woke warm and relaxed and refreshed, and to the sound of voices downstairs. He stretched, got to his feet, opened the door and found he could hear every word from the top of the steps.  
  
“You said things were different!”  
  
“They _are_.”  
  
“He’s _here_. You barely know him, and he’s living here already?”  
  
“He crashed after his shift. We had breakfast this morning. Dude, what the _hell_ has been up your ass lately?”  
  
“You just met him. You barely _know_ him. We don’t know his family or his story. Why is he all alone out here?”  
  
Cas recognized Dean’s patient tone, and could now clearly recognize the other voice—Sam. Angry Sam, it seemed.  
  
“I’m _not_ the first person to go around passing judgment, Sammy. You shouldn’t be either.”  
  
“You said that about Gordon!”  
  
“Oh for— _that’s_ what this is about?”  
  
“It’s the same thing, over and over. Bella was different, Lisa was different, and Gordon—you were going to move in together. You either sleep with sluts or hook up with people like—like— _him_!”  
  
“Watch your mouth,” Dean snapped. “You sound like a damn control freak wife.”  
  
“I’m not afraid you’re replacing _me_.”  
  
“Then?”  
  
“I’m afraid you’ll replace _Dad!_ ”  
  
Cas’ stomach dropped. It seemed to take a moment for Dean to recover.  
  
“Damnit, Sam—just because I sometimes go for guys doesn’t mean I’m looking for _Dad_.”  
  
“Guys, girls—it doesn’t matter. It’s the same personality type, Dean. They mean well on the outside, but they store up everything and anything they can use against you and they _use_ it. It’s like...if you’re not taking punches, you feel guilty, like you _should_. I can’t—it’s not fair. You told me—you swore, one day, no one would hurt us— _either_ of us!” Sam seemed to be working himself into a near-frenzy. Dean’s voice, softened, broke in, but Sam rolled over it. “But it’s the same thing! You’re only looking out for me, not for you!”  
  
“That’s enough,” Dean said firmly. “I mean it, Sam.”  
  
“Sometimes I—I hate you, Dean,” Sam’s voice broke. There was a moment of quiet between them, with only the sound of Sam’s struggling breathing.  
  
“Hey,” Dean murmured. “Listen to me. I’m done with that, alright? Cas couldn’t hurt me if he _wanted_ to. He’s a _doctor_ , Sammy. And, believe it or not, kind of like Jess, when it comes to money. Sure, they have it, but they have a lot of problems in their families because of it. He just wants normal.” A beat. Then “Bro, you have got to quit this. We’re good, alright? You’ve got Jess, and school. I’ve got work, and a someone I really _like_. C’mon bud. Relax. I know—you and I, life has pretty much never been okay. But it _is_ now.”  
  
“I want you to _care_ about yourself!” Sam pleaded. “Not just say so-and-so cares! I want _you_ to care! Please, you’d—you’d kick my ass if I didn’t look after myself. I want you to do the same!”  
  
“I am. I _will_. I promise, Sammy. Alright?”  
  
Cas’ heart was racing, but he still ducked into the bedroom and dressed, splashed water on his face, combed his hair, and was heading down the stairs, hands shaking. The voices had quieted, but his nerves were still buzzing as he entered the kitchen and smiled at Sam.  
  
“Working nights throws me off,” he said, trying hard not to flinch when Sam whirled on him and glared. Dean crossed the kitchen and tossed a casual, manly arm around his shoulders and squeezed.  
  
“No worries. Not here,” he said, eyes hard on his brother. Sam’s eyes were damp, chest heaving, as he shook his head and looked away.  
  
“Is everything alright?”  
  
“Of course. Sammy and me were going to go to a movie, you want to join?”  
  
“I would.” Cas slid his own hand tentatively on Dean’s back. “If it’s alright. I don’t want to intrude.”  
  
“No intrusion. Sammy?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Whatever you want, Dean.”  
  
It was a lie and it hurt, Cas could tell. But it was more than the younger Winchester had given him since he’d met. Cas had long ago learned to take what was available. Morgans trafficked it.

***

  
“I missed the part where it was an alien,” Cas confessed.  
  
He had a glass of wine in front of him: white, and one he could barely touch without feeling another sudden attack on his equilibrium. The Winchester brothers were two beers in and didn’t even seem affected.  
  
“Dude, that was the _point_ ,” Dean said.  
  
“If you missed it, Dean was shouting it,” Sam grumbled.  
  
“I understood Dean’s narrative. I just didn’t understand how he got to it.”  
  
“What the hell else can change skin?” Dean challenged.  
  
“Well...many cultures have things such as shape shifters, and skin-walkers, and such—creatures that can take on appearances. I suppose aliens are just a new version of the old stories.”  
  
“Yeah, that stuff isn’t real. Aliens? Real.”  
  
“He’s right, Dean,” Sam said slowly. “It’s the same with UFOs. Back in the old days, when inexplicable lights or things appeared, it was named as the gods, or fairies, or whatever was culturally appropriate. Now that we say we’re beyond these things, it’s UFOs, which we deem as something scientifically unknowable.”  
  
“Despite the fact that all the ancient sciences _also_ deemed those lights to be unknowable,” Cas continued.  
  
“Exactly. Every generation believes it’s wiser than the rest.”  
  
“Despite the faults of its ancestors.”  
  
“They always assume they’re wiser, and, hopefully, they are. The key is to remember where they stand in history.”  
  
“A good physician will always be studying, learning, and willing to admit they were wrong if evidence provides further advancement.”  
  
Dean tapped his empty bottle on the bar, signaling another. “Yeah, I stopped listening about fifteen minutes ago. You two carry on.”  
  
“I was just...saying,” Sam mumbled, turning away and swirling his remaining beer. Cas took another sip of his “lesbian” drink, as Dean called it, and steeled himself.  
  
“I know you’re Pre-Law, Sam, but you’re very well versed in science and mythology.”  
  
“I like to read,” Sam mumbled.  
  
“Geek would fill up my library card _and_ his when we were kids,” Dean said proudly. Cas took another, longer, sip.  
  
“When I was about six or seven, I told my family I wanted to investigate UFOs,” Cas said. Dean’s eyebrows shot skyward. Sam glanced at him in that ‘I’m interested but won’t admit it’ way. “My Father told me to stick to what was known—stick with science. I found physics and chemistry rather dull. Biology, quite fascinating. But English—even if I was never good at interpreting the stories, I loved hearing them. Politics, science, religion, mathematics—all was the same for our ancestors. Sometimes I wish we’d remember that in our ‘specialized’ fields.”  
  
“There’s nothing not worth studying,” Sam chanced, eyes locked hard on Cas. “Nothing that can’t make us question and rethink whatever we know as absolutes.”  
  
Dean downed a huge gulp of his fresh beer. “God, Yahweh, Allah, or the Great Spaghetti Monster have mercy on my soul. There's two of them,” he grumbled.

***

  
Sam had insisted he’d brought enough groceries to cook them dinner.  
  
Dean had whined and pleaded for a place with burgers and fries, but, somehow, between Sam and Cas’ awkward truce, they’d been able to convince him to come home.  
  
Cas felt better than he’d felt in years, even _with_ the joy of his relationship with Dean. He had Dean, and for the moment, he had what seemed like Dean’s brother, which was the closest and greatest cobblestone of a real family he could wish for. Watching the brothers tease and jostle, always with an edge of careful affection, made him long to feel a part of it. All the way up the path to front porch, where a stranger sat, in a long black coat, a scruffy beard on his face. Cas glanced to Dean, only to stop at a face he’d never seen, regardless of their time, and intimacy, together.  
  
He looked to Sam, but he too, had a look he that was completely foreign. And then it hit him: Sam and Dean hadn’t seen their father since the night John had broken a bottle over Sam’s head and nearly killed him.  
  
“You’re not welcome here,” Dean growled. John stood up, eyes on his younger son. Sam pulled inward and hovered behind his brother, suddenly childlike.  
  
“Sammy,” John said.  
  
“Dad,” Sam managed.  
  
So this, here, was the monster. The evil that overshadowed both the Winchesters’ lives. Cas had thought he’d be taller. He’d pictured someone huge, vicious, with cold, heartless eyes. Not the man before him, who just looked sad and tired and a bit ill. And who didn’t look capable of taking either one of his sons in a fight, let alone nearly _killing_ one.  
  
John chanced a move forward. Dean took another step toward him. “I said,” he snapped, “you’re not _welcome_ here.”  
  
“I came to apologize. To see how Sam was doing.”  
  
“Several years after you smashed a bottle over his head? He’s lucky to be alive, or not drooling all over himself!”  
  
“Dean,” Sam cautioned. John’s eyes flicked to his elder son.  
  
“I was out of line. I’m here to apologize.”  
  
“Well, save it,” Dean shot.  
  
“Dean,” Cas interjected, stepping forward. “It’s alright.” He held out a hand to the older man. “My name is Cas Morgan. I’m a friend of your sons’.”  
  
“Cas, you stay away from him,” Dean barked, shoving him slightly sideways to meet his father’s eyes. “Leave.”  
  
“I’m trying to sober up, Dean,” John shot. “One of the stages is apologizing to those you’ve hurt.”  
  
“I can recite those stages from memory, because this isn’t the first time you’ve said it. Even if it sticks, you’re not one of us anymore.”  
  
“Dean, it’s fine—” Sam chanced.  
  
“The hell it is! I almost had to _bury_ you!”  
  
“I was wrong,” John said. “I thought he was leaving us. And I wasn’t thinking clearly. My disease clouded my judgment.”  
  
“Your _disease_ didn’t put him in the hospital for a month! It didn’t give him migraines and memory loss and nightmares!”  
  
“Dean, just...settle down,” Sam pleaded. He still stayed planted firmly behind his brother, but he reached out and gripped Dean’s arm to keep him from launching himself at the older man. "Dad...you need to go. Please. We’re not ready.”  
  
“I have a _right_ to see you,” John snapped. “You’re my _children._ ”  
  
“Just like you had a right to drink yourself sick, and disappear, and beat us like animals!” Dean roared. Sam grabbed his brother and held tight.  
  
“Dad, just _go_. If you really want to see us, we can set something up, with professionals, where we can work through some of this—”  
  
“The hell we will,” Dean seethed, turning toward his Dad. “I don’t need you anymore, you bastard! I see you for what you are. You’re probably here for money, aren’t you?”  
  
John’s face twisted into something darker, angrier. Cas felt his own blood run cold.  
  
“You _both_ need to learn to watch your tone,” John snapped, and stepped forward.  
  
Cas would always be fuzzy on the details of the next minute. According to the Winchesters, John had drawn back his arm, Sam had lost his hold on his elder brother, and Cas had thrown himself between Dean and his father, hoping to stave off the oncoming fight. The next thing he remembered was lying face-first on the lawn, the blow evidently having knocked him sideways and flat. He hadn’t felt any pain at first, only a fuzzy confusion at the dirt and grass and the sounds of shouting above.  
  
“Cas!” a voice shouted, and he was lifted, rested on someone’s leg, and Sam’s face swam into vision. “No, no, no—c’mon, Cas, hey, hey man—it’s okay, you’re okay. You with me? Cas?” Sam’s voice shook.  
  
“Sam,” Cas groaned. And the younger Winchester beamed at him.  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s me. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine, alright? You’re fine. And Dean and me—” his voice cracked. He laid a hand on the top of Cas’ head. “Will be fine.”  
  
Cas had been too out of it to answer. But for all he couldn’t remember, he would always treasure Sam’s broad hands on his head and shoulder, his leg beneath his head, holding him like he was his very own brother.  
  


***

  
Sam cooked dinner for the three of them—a hamburger for Dean, two Portobello mushrooms for Cas and himself. He made a salad and baked sweet-potato French-fries, which Dean said were “sub-par” but still devoured like a starving man. He and Dean had beers while Cas had ice water and, when he emptied his glass, Sam shot out of his chair and eagerly went to refill it, smiling warmly when he returned.  
  
“You need any more ice, Cas?” Sam asked.  
  
“I’m fine, Sam. Your meal is delicious.”  
  
“Is your eye bothering you? You can’t tell there’s anything wrong. It might...be a little bruised tomorrow, but it’ll clear up.”  
  
“I’m fine, Sam,” Cas assured him, smiling. It stung a bit, but he didn’t want either of the Winchesters to fuss anymore than they had. When Dean had finished roughing up his father he’d be painfully apologetic and gentle helping him to his feet and barking at Sam to get ice.  
  
“Well,” he’d sighed, pressing the cold bag against Cas’ cheek. “Guess you met the parents.”  
  
“Are _you_ alright?” Cas had demanded. Dean’s shirt was torn, and his nose was slightly bloodied, and his knuckles were scraped raw.  
  
“Yeah. I mean...I’ve been wanting to slug the shit out of him for awhile. Felt kinda good.” He’d grinned sadly, and kissed Cas quickly before Sam came racing back in with Tylenol and bandages.  
  
And since then, Sam was...well... _Sammy_. Smiling, sweet, eager, and a little haunted and sad. His big shoulders had fallen into a slouch, and, despite his height, he seemed...smaller, younger, and infinitely more vulnerable.  
  
Sam cleared the table, did the dishes, brought Dean a glass of whiskey and Cas a glass of wine. He shook Cas’ hand when he was ready to leave and stared sadly at his brother before drifting out the door.  
  
“Sorry, man, I gotta...” Dean waved at the porch and took off after his brother, calling for him to hold up. Sam seemed to curl in on himself, looking as though he was about to start crying. Dean took a step forward, and did the last thing Cas expected: he brought his arms around his taller brother, cupped a hand at the back of his neck, and guided Sam's head down onto his own shoulder, pulling him tight with his free arm. The younger Winchester clutched his elder brother, fisting his shirt in his hands, and hanging tight, as if it were the most normal thing on Earth to be held by his big brother, despite their ages.  
  
When Cas had graduated, top of his class, at Harvard Medical School, Michael had shaken his hand. Lou had given him a manly thump on the arm and said “I’ll save the handshake for when you’re on a payroll other than Dad’s, huh?” Ralph had given an even briefer, lighter, handshake than Michael’s. And Gabe...well, Gabe had swept him up in a ridiculous, overblown hug that involved spinning and shouting, all too diminish any hint of emotion behind it.  
  
Dean’s hug was nothing like this. Cas had been close to Dean enough to know his tenderness, acceptance, and love, without desire, without conditions established. Just warm hands and warm eyes and a warm, wide heart. The window was partly open, and Cas could hear Sam’s soft, repeated apologies while Dean hushed him and murmured that everything was going to be alright, that they were safe, that they were finally, finally safe. The rest went without saying—that Sam could screw up and Dean could screw up and they would always come back to one another, always come back to the love they shared, the impenetrable, unbreakable bond that had been their birthright.  
  
Cas had never, in all his years jetting around the world, seeing the so-called-wonders, visiting and attending the nation’s greatest schools, greeting celebrities, seen anything that struck him as dumb and as profound as these two grown men finding absolute comfort and acceptance with one another, right out in public, without shame or fear. For the first time in his life, he knew he was looking at the bond of family: real, _true_ , family. Real brotherhood. Real, _unconditional_ love.  
  
And if it took a few punches...well...they felt no heavier than a kiss, if it meant he could know one tiny _bit_ of the strength that kind of love brought with it.


End file.
